


Last Time Pays For All

by missbecky



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2307392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter realizes that leaving the Ravagers behind isn't exactly as easy as just flying away on the Milano. Understanding what it means to have friends, though, is sometimes surprisingly simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Time Pays For All

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to [iloome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iloome/works) for letting me send words to her at all hours of the day and cheering me on.

Within hours of leaving Xandar, they're squabbling amongst themselves. It's the kind of argument that can quickly become a real fight if they aren't careful. Gamora wants to find Nebula. Rocket wants to get as far away from the Nova Empire as they can. Drax doesn't offer an alternative of his own but is quick to veto suggestions he doesn't like.

Peter doesn't contribute much to the argument. He's still grappling with the bombshell that Nova Prime laid on him this morning, and the dawning realization that sooner or later, he needs to go back to Earth.

 _You don't give a damn about your Terra,_ Yondu had accused, but that isn't true. It was never true. The thing about the Ravagers is, if you want to keep something, you never ever let on how much it means to you. When you live among thieves, showing an interest in something is the quickest way to lose it. So Peter's never once asked if they can go back to Earth, or acted like he would like to go back there.

But he's thinking he might want to go back now. He wants to see if his grandparents are still alive. Maybe some of his mom's friends. Someone, anyone, who might have some knowledge about his father.

Because oh boy, has he got questions.

He hesitates to say anything, though. That's not entirely due to his old reticence about hiding what he cares about, either. It's just that it's been a really long time since he was on Earth. Things there have undoubtedly changed – and probably not for the better. Maybe it's best that he remembers it the way it was, back when he was still a little kid and capable of things like naiveté and wonder. This way he can remember Earth full of amazing things, and not be wrong.

"For the last time," Rocket snaps, "we are not chasing after your lunatic sister!" And it's not so much his tone that finally gets Peter's attention as the way he's practically caressing the ridiculously large gun he favors.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaims. "Enough! No one is chasing after anyone." Off Rocket's smug look, he adds, "And we're not leaving the Nova Empire. Not yet, anyway."

Rocket clutches Groot's pot tightly and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "asshole" under his breath. Peter ignores this. "Staying here is our best bet to find work," he says. " _Paying_ work." He points to the large computer screen that's currently acting like a galactic television and showing a thankfully-silenced news broadcast of the destruction on Xandar. "A lot of people saw that. That means they saw _us_. Staying in the Nova Empire means people are more likely to ask for our help."

"To do what?" Rocket asks with a healthy amount of skepticism.

"I don't know," Peter admits. He hasn't really thought that far ahead. "But whatever they want, we'll help. Because that's what we do now."

Rocket stares at him as if he's lost his mind. Maybe he has. Some days it's hard to tell.

"You really want to do this, then," Gamora says quietly.

"Yeah," Peter says. "I really do." He feels like he's back on Yondu's ship again, trying to bring them together with nothing but the force of his own convictions. "Look, we have something, okay? And—"

"Spare us the feel-good lecture," Rocket groans. "We get it."

"So what's the big deal then?" Peter says. He's a little bit stung by this response.

"There is no 'big deal'," Gamora says with a sharp look at Rocket. "I think you're right. We have a chance now to do something with our lives. We should not waste it."

"I agree," Drax says. "I would be honored to stand beside you, Quill, and call myself a Guardian of the Galaxy."

Well, that's a start. "Good," Peter says. He seizes on this chance to make an object lesson. "I'm glad you said that, Drax. Because we're _all_ going to be doing that."

Rocket bristles at this. Literally. His fur stands up on end. "Awfully high and mighty for someone who needed us to save his ass – and I do mean that – twice since he first met us."

"You never would have had to save my ass if you hadn't tried to kidnap it in the first place!" Peter retorts.

"Stop!" Gamora's voice is like a whipcrack. "We are not going over this again. I heard it enough on Xandar while we waited to meet with Nova Prime. I will not hear it again."

"I would not hear it again, either," Drax chimes in.

They glare at each other across the suddenly way-too-small space of the Milano's common area. Peter's hand wants to twitch down to his weapon. Gamora's entire body is tense. Rocket looks like he's about to lift his gun and shoot them all. Only Drax looks remotely relaxed, but that of course is a lie.

"I am Groot," says a tiny voice.

Immediately they all forget their argument and turn to stare at the little tree in his pot. Barely more than six inches high, Groot is waving his little stick arms and looking up at them with consternation on his small face. 

It's the first time he's spoken since Xandar.

"Groot!" Rocket sounds overjoyed, his anger forgotten.

"All right!" Peter says, and he's grinning like an idiot, he can feel it on his face.

Gamora exhales slowly, her shoulders settling.

"He speaks," Drax says with a pleased expression.

"Of course he speaks," Rocket snaps. He doesn't sound angry, though. He's preening over the pot like a proud papa. Which is not something Peter would ever be stupid enough to say out loud, even though it amuses the hell out of him to think it.

He looks around. The crisis is past, and they're all friends again.

For the time being, at least.

****

_\-- Drax fires the gun and Ronan's hammer shatters. The Infinity Stone is in freefall now and so is he as he reaches for it, he has to remember to not let go when he lands, and that's gonna hurt, but it'll hurt a hell of a lot more if he lets the Stone touch the ground, so he reaches and reaches and he grabs the Stone and_

_\-- and an infinity of potential explodes in front of him, no,_ in _him, because there is no separation now between himself and the Stone, they are one, and he sees_

_\-- infinite possibilities, infinite worlds, and he burns at the center of each one_

_\-- he is still on Earth, he never left, he spares only a glance for the stars at night when he even bothers to look up at all_

_\-- he is trapped in a twisted version of reality where nothing can die, where he wears a bright blue and red uniform and he has only one friend by his side and a cosmic cube in his hand as he faces Thanos and the end of his own life_

_\-- he is a Defender, dressed all in blue this time, one of the few heroes left in a dystopian world ruled by a man who is half-machine, part of a team that includes Colonel America and a sorcerer_

_\-- he is dead, killed on Xandar when Gamora says, "This wasn't the plan," and she stabs him in the chest and takes the orb from his lifeless hand_

_\-- he is kissing a hundred women, he is kissing a hundred men, their faces flashing by so fast he can barely see them all, a green-skinned woman wearing a gold headband with two antenna rising from it, a tall man with blue eyes and a black goatee, a young woman with brown hair who can walk through walls, a man with white hair and a gem set in his forehead_

_\-- he saves Xandar_

_\-- he fails to save Xandar_

_\-- he is Peter Quill, Star-Lord, Defender, Avenger, Guardian of the Galaxy, all at the same time, and the knowledge terrifies him_

_\-- he has only been holding the Infinity Stone for a few microseconds, and all this it has shown him, and he suddenly realizes that he can erase all those strange other worlds, he is holding the power to do that in his hand, like blowing out a candle he can snuff those worlds out of existence with a mere thought, it would be that easy_

_\-- and that's when he starts to scream, he is filled with absolute horror, thinking,_ no, no I don't want to, no, I only wanted to save them, that's all I want

_\-- but the Stone was made for power, that is its sole purpose, and it fights against his resistance, and now his screams come from the agony of being devoured alive as it tries to bend him to its will, and he is burning to death, bits of him flaking away like ash_

_\-- and he_

He wakes with a muffled outcry, and immediately freezes up.

_What the hell?_

It's almost like that night in the Kyln, surrounded on all sides by sleeping people. Except that was creepy and just plain wrong. And this feels…right.

He remembers now the argument (again) over who got to sleep in one of the Milano's two bunks. Things got heated, insults and threats were exchanged (again), and finally Peter had to put a stop to it (again). In a move that made him no friends, he declared that no one got the bunks. They had all just earned themselves a night sleeping on the floor.

Which is exactly where they are now. Gamora lies behind him, deeply asleep, or possibly faking it – she's a light sleeper and no doubt woke up when he did. Drax is in front of him, one massive elbow digging into Peter's skull. Rocket is curled up around Groot's pot, his favorite gun within reaching distance. Groot looks like he's asleep too, although with him it's harder to tell.

Peter smiles a little. The Milano flies on, serene and, for once, blessedly quiet, still on course for nowhere in particular. All around him are his new friends.

He's never really had friends before. The Ravagers were a twisted family of sorts, in the "maybe we'll kill you today and maybe we won't" kind of way. But friends? Those have been in short supply for most of his life.

And he's actually starting to like them, his fellow Guardians. Like, really like them. Gamora and her strict code of honor and carefully guarded smiles. Drax's maddening insistence on the literal. The way Rocket takes whatever is at hand and turns it into a weapon - and then uses it. Groot's sunny smiles at the most inappropriate of times.

It's a little worrisome. He can see that his growing affection (that's as far as he lets himself go, thinking about them) for the Guardians might one day be his undoing. But right now it's still new and exciting, and besides, where else would he get to spend hours watching a raccoon put together a bomb?

So yeah. He's got new friends, he's well and truly Star-Lord now, and he's a Guardian of the Galaxy, the greatest group of heroes that ever was.

What more could he want?

****

It's not like they're actively avoiding the Ravagers in their aimless wandering through this section of the quadrant. It's more like they still can't decide where to go, while Peter himself is still debating whether or not he wants to return to Earth.

At least, that's his story, and he's sticking to it.

What he forgets is that he's not actively avoiding the one person who's known him for most of his life. The one person who pretty much taught him everything he knows. So when it takes less than a week for Yondu to catch up to them, he can't really say he's surprised.

They're on Mardun, which isn't the worst planet Peter's ever been to, but it's a long way from being the best. Mostly they came here to refuel the Milano and see if anybody needs smiting, or if there's maybe any super-rich citizens willing to pay for a little bodyguard work or something like that. Peter's not really sure what they're supposed to be doing now that they're on the right side of the law. Guarding the galaxy sounds fine and noble and all, but there's not exactly much of a job description for it.

Not that it matters, because they don't find any paying work on Mardun, although Rocket does manage to sweet-talk a merchant into selling them some soundproofing material at a really cheap rate, which will do wonders for improving living conditions on the Milano. Because as much as Peter loves his ship (especially since what was left of the Nova Corps made it so shiny and new), he has to admit that she isn't the most optimal home for five people who are still basically total strangers to each other.

They head back for the spaceport, threading their way through the crowds. Kids run past, shouting and grabbing at each other. As he did on Knowhere, Peter offers a warning to his friends. "Watch your wallets," he says, and he should know, because he was one of those kids once. Pickpocketing was one of the first things he had learned as a Ravager, and it hadn't even been that hard.

When he thinks back on those days now, he remembers them with a mixture of fondness and disgust. He had been good at what he did, although to this day he's not sure how much of that was raw talent and how much was pure terror at the thought of not being useful to the Ravagers and being abandoned by them.

They enter the spaceport and leave the worst of the crowds behind. The Milano is visible now, parked at the far end of the docks. 

So is another very familiar ship.

Peter comes to an abrupt halt. "You gotta be kidding me."

A voice speaks in his ear then, with perfect timing as usual. A voice that knows perfectly well what channel he keeps his comm on. "Well, well, well. If it ain't the prodigal son."

"Fuck," Peter swears, because of course this would happen now. Not that there's ever a _good_ time to be collared by the guy you recently swindled out of four billion units. The guy who was ready to kill you the last time he saw you just because he thought you had gone soft – and that was after you had swindled him once already.

"Quill?" Rocket sounds accusing.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs. He scans the crowd quickly, looking for Yondu, but comes up empty. Not that that means anything. He knows Yondu is there. "Just let me handle it, okay?"

"'Cause that worked out so well for you last time," Rocket snarks.

"Shut up," Peter says absently. The words have no punch to them, though. Telling Rocket to shut up has become an automatic reflex. Which is for the best, considering how Rocket doesn't even seem to hear it anymore, either.

"Quill!"

And yep, there's Yondu. Pushing his way through the crowd, Kraglin at his back as always. Looking mightily pissed off and just as grimy as ever.

Peter braces himself for the inevitable. He doesn't want to face Yondu and deal with the consequences of his betrayal on Xandar. He always knew he would have to pay for it someday – but "someday" has come an awful lot sooner than he expected.

"Peter." Gamora says his name quietly as she steps up to stand beside him. On his other side, Drax and Rocket take their places. They're all armed, the four of them presenting a united front.

Their support takes him by surprise, although a split-second later, he's kicking himself for that reaction. They're a team now, aren't they? Why shouldn't they stand with him?

Yondu and Kraglin are close now. People are giving way all around them, sensing a confrontation in the making. Peter tenses up a little more, wondering if he's about to be killed right here and now. He tells himself not to be stupid, that Yondu isn't going to kill him, or even do anything outrageous here in public.

Nonetheless, he lets one hand drift downward to the gun at his hip.

Yondu makes a curt gesture and Kraglin stops a few feet back, allowing Yondu to walk the last few paces alone. "Figured you'd be stopping for fuel soon."

"You figured right," Peter says. He notices that Yondu's coat is closed, which means he'll have to throw it back to release the sonic arrow. That should give him enough time to draw and fire – if he has to.

But Yondu doesn't threaten him. He just stares, letting the tension build.

And all at once, Peter is glad Yondu showed up. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. In point of fact, it's actually the best thing that could happen right now. They can have it out over his trick with the Infinity Stone, and then they can have a long-overdue conversation.

This is his chance to officially sever ties with the Ravagers and go his own way. He can leave for good with the Guardians and just fly away in the Milano without worrying about having to constantly look over his shoulder. He can start this new phase of his life without any complications from the past.

In theory, at least.

"It's okay, guys," he says calmly. He doesn't take his eyes off Yondu. "I got this."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Rocket says, speaking for them all.

"Just go," he says. "I'll join you later."

"Best do as he says," Yondu says flatly, still staring at Peter.

Gamora stiffens, not taking kindly to being ordered around like that. And it strikes Peter that maybe Yondu isn't the one he should be worried about causing any bloodshed.

He turns away from Yondu's stare so he can look first at Drax and Rocket, then at Gamora. "Listen," he says. "It's fine. Everything's cool. We're just going to talk. I'll be back before you know it."

"I do not like this," Drax says.

"I'm not saying you have to like it," Peter says evenly. It's his first real test of leadership, of whether he can take these very unique, very different people, and turn them into an actual team capable of following orders. He told Rhomann Dey that he intended to lead the Guardians, and he meant every word, but saying it and putting it into actual practice are two very different things.

"If you have not returned in one hour," Gamora says, cool as cool can be, "we will return. And we will find you." She pauses for a beat, her eyes locked on Yondu. "Wherever you may be."

At this rather over-the-top threat, Yondu's lips part in a scary smile.

With obvious reluctance, the Guardians leave. Drax is the first to walk away, followed by Rocket. Gamora is last, and her eyes promise Yondu that she will not forget what she said.

And finally Peter is alone with Yondu. He stands there, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to run if it becomes necessary. There's sweat on his forehead and the palms of his hands, and he knows if he has to draw his gun there's a good chance he'll fumble and drop it. He's absolutely not ready for this.

So he does what he always does in situations like this. He puts on an act. He pretends to be tougher than he is, because that's who he is, that's how he's always done things, because he doesn't know any different.

"Want to get a drink?" he asks, and he's pleased with how casual he sounds. "There's a pretty good bar we passed on the way here." He gestures over his shoulder, back toward the city.

"Why not?" Yondu says. He holds one hand up, signaling Kraglin to stay right where he is, and he walks toward Peter.

Together they head back into the city. The bar comes within view, a low-roofed building with windows made of transparent plastic, not glass. Even at this relatively early hour – it's just past noon – there's an unconscious drunk sleeping it off in the yard in front of the place, right where he must have landed when the bouncer tossed him out at closing time.

"Looks familiar, hey?" Peter says, thinking of all the bars he and Yondu and the Ravagers have spent time in over the years.

The moment the words are out of his mouth, though, he winces. That was a dumb thing to say, bringing up the past when he's about to turn his back on it.

_Way to go, Quill._

"I guess you know we need to talk," Yondu says. He doesn't sound very friendly about it, either.

There's no point in pretending, then. Still half a block away from the bar, people passing them by on the sidewalk, Peter stops walking. They were never going to sit down together and have a drink and talk this out like civilized people. He was fooling himself to think that they might.

The thing is, Yondu is quick to anger, but also quick to forgive – if you know which buttons to push. Which Peter does. He's spent most of his life being slapped in one breath and hugged in the next, or even the other way around sometimes. That's why the inconsistency of the Guardians suits him just fine. It never bothers him that one day they'll all sit around talking and acting like real friends, and the next day there's new scorch marks on the Milano's bulkheads from Rocket trying to shoot Drax in the ass.

But with Yondu, that inconsistency can be deadly. So he's careful now as he says, "I'm not going back with you. I'm done with the Ravagers."

It's surprisingly hard to say. He sees hurt flash in Yondu's eyes. It's quickly masked, but he saw it anyway, and now he feels like a complete asshole.

Whether he likes it or not – and until just recently, he liked it – he's been a Ravager for most of his life. Turning his back on them isn't going to be easy.

And Yondu…if it hadn't been for Yondu, he doubts he would be where he is today. Yondu is the one who saw the potential in him, who gave him his chance to show them all what he could do. Yondu was the one who arranged for his first flight in a Ravager ship, just ten years old and strapped into the pilot's seat against Horuz's objections that he was too young. Yondu had just grinned coldly and said that Peter was a year older than when he had first learned to fly, and it was about time he figured it out. 

Standing there on the dirty ground of this planet he'd never even heard of before yesterday, Peter remembers the sheer thrill of that first flight, his amazed delight to discover that here was something he knew how to do almost without instruction, something he was incredibly good at. Flying had come to him effortlessly, and he remembers racing through the stars, feeling truly happy for the first time since his abduction. He remembers Yondu smiling at him with such pride, encouraging him to push the ship's limits just to see what he could do. He remembers that moment when they got back to the cruiser and Yondu grabbed his hand and raised it above his head – almost jerking him off his feet – and announced to all the Ravagers that they had just found their pilot for that new orange and blue ship.

If all his memories were like that one, he probably wouldn't ever want to leave. He would be content to stay a Ravager forever. But one moment of happiness among years of uncertainty is not something to pin his entire future on, and he knows that now.

It's high time he made his own way in the galaxy.

As if to underscore this point, Yondu says, "So what _are_ you gonna do? Put together your own crew?"

He _had_ wanted that, once upon a time. To be Yondu's equal, not his subordinate. To have his own cruiser and crew, his own fleet of fast little ships like the Milano. There was a time when he would have leapt at the chance to become his own Captain, to lead his own team on wild adventures. But he already has that with the Guardians – and he's not going to give it up. 

"No," Peter says. He knows perfectly well that Yondu doesn't believe he is looking for a crew of his own. Yondu just doesn't want to admit the truth and say it out loud. "I'm staying with the Guardians of the Galaxy."

"Those fools?" Yondu's voice is thick with derision. "You can do better than that, boy. A lot better."

"I really don't think I can," he says. He means it, too. He's not unaware that he's the weak link in his new team. He brings nothing exciting to the table like Gamora and Rocket's cybernetic enhancements, or Drax and Groot's freaky super-strength. Sure, he's got a wisecrack for every occasion, but that's hardly a useful talent.

But they're his friends. And he really thinks he's got something with them. Something special. More to the point, he feels like he belongs with them. It's not something he could ever put into words, especially not to someone like Yondu, but he feels it strongly all the same.

All he's ever really wanted was a family to replace the one he lost on that terrible day back on Earth. For a time the Ravagers filled that void, but he never really felt like he belonged with them. Despite his doubts, he made it work, sometimes even for years at a time – but part of him always knew he wouldn't stay.

"Is that what you want? Crew of your own?" Yondu says, apparently choosing to ignore his response. "Hell, you can have it. I'll handpick 'em myself. You can't have Kraglin, he's mine, but you'll get the rest of the best. Only group that'll outdo you is mine." He grins.

Peter is touched in spite of himself. "That sounds great, it really does. But that's not what I want."

"What _do_ you want then?" Yondu says. He's getting angry now, and Peter keeps an eye on his hands, waiting for the downward movement that means his life is on the line.

"I want…" He stops. He can't explain it. Not like this, when Yondu is already pissed off. He settles for saying, "I'm staying with the Guardians. We're going to help people."

"How you gonna do that?" Yondu says, his voice heavy with scorn. "Saving planets?"

"Maybe," Peter says defensively. "Yeah. If that's what it takes."

Yondu opens his mouth to retort, and Peter quickly stops him. "And don't you dare say I've gone soft. We saved billions of lives on Xandar! How is that going soft?"

"I don't give a damn about Xandar," Yondu says. "And I don't give a damn about your 'Guardians of the Galaxy.'" He points one grimy finger at Peter. "I came here because you owe me, boy."

At last they've come to it. Peter glances around and sees a lot of pedestrians walking past, although some space has been cleared around them; people are giving them a wide berth as they go by. He can't decide if that makes him feel better or worse about where things are going.

He says, "If you're talking about the Infinity Stone, you—"

"I don't care about no Stone!" Yondu snaps. "What was I gonna do with it, anyway? Anyone I tried to sell it to just woulda tried to kill me with it."

That's a lie, maybe one of the biggest Yondu has ever told, and it pisses Peter off. After everything he went through to keep the Stone out of the wrong hands, for Yondu to blow it off like it means nothing…

"Then what?" he asks, and he stops himself from getting in Yondu's face only with an effort. "What is it you think I owe you?"

"The _score,_ " Yondu says fiercely. "You promised me the score of a lifetime."

Shit. So he did.

Yondu gives him a look. "And you know how I feel about people who break their promises to me." He doesn't drop his hand to his hip and the sonic arrow, but he doesn't need to. Peter knows perfectly well what Yondu's thoughts are on the matter.

Hastily he says, "I'm not _breaking_ my promise--"

"You better not be," Yondu interrupts.

"--I'm just gonna need a rain check," he finishes.

Yondu doesn't reply. He just stares at him.

And without any premeditation on his part, the words just rise up in Peter's throat, completely out of his control. It's the kid in him still, terrified of being found useless and cast aside, terrified of losing the only family he's got. "I'll find something," he says. "I will."

It's like his mouth isn't connected to his brain anymore. He just keeps talking, digging himself in deeper. "I'll get you your damn score if that's all you care about. But that's it. This is the last time, Yondu. After this, I'm done."

"We can talk about that part later," Yondu says. "After you do this for me."

"No," Peter says. "We're talking about it right now. I mean it. I'm through. This is the last time I do this kind of thing."

Yondu stares at him, sizing him up. Peter used to fold under the weight of that stare, but those days are long gone. He stares back, the silence lengthening between them.

And at last he sees it, a tiny flicker of doubt in Yondu's eyes. He knows then that he's won.

He doesn't push his luck. He's aware that he's making another promise he most likely won't be able to keep, but he can't stop himself. He's always been like this, ever since he was a kid. Even his mom used to get annoyed with him sometimes. "I'll do this for you because you're right, I do owe you. But that's all."

"Talk is cheap," Yondu says. He's confident again, that moment of doubt banished like it never existed. "Bring me the score first, and then we'll talk."

There's nothing more to talk about, but Peter doesn't argue. Let Yondu go away thinking that there is still something to discuss, that he can convince him to stay. It's easier this way – for both of them. Yondu gets to save face and come to terms with the inevitable on his own time. And Peter gets to walk away with all his body parts intact. "You won't be disappointed."

Yondu points at him again. "See that I'm not," he says.

Peter nods easily, like it's no big deal. Sure, sure, whatever Yondu wants, Yondu gets.

Having made his point, Yondu turns and walks away, headed back toward the spaceport. Peter watches him go, his thoughts already racing. He has no idea what he's going to do, or how he's going to find a job that pays big enough to satisfy Yondu. All he knows is that whatever it is, it better be huge.

After all, as the saying goes, last time pays for all.

****

The Guardians, of course, aren't too pleased with him when they hear what he promised Yondu. Rocket in particular has a lot of choice things to say, most of which are swear words.

As usual, Gamora gets right to the heart of the matter. "If we don't do this," she says, "Yondu and the Ravagers will never let us go in peace."

"Oh, I think we could make 'em leave us alone," Rocket says confidently.

Peter's not so sure. He honestly doesn't know who would win a stubborn-off: Rocket or Yondu.

"How much money is required?" Drax asks.

"About four billion," Peter says miserably. Before the battle on Xandar, he'd been forced to admit to Yondu how much the Collector had been willing to pay for the orb, so of course that's the figure Yondu has in mind now. He's just lucky Yondu isn't charging him interest, too.

Rocket curses again.

"I have money you may have," Drax says.

Peter stares at him. No way he heard that right. "What?"

"You have money?" Gamora asks in polite disbelief.

"How much?" Rocket demands.

"I am Groot," says Groot in his tiny voice, anxious as always not to be left out of any conversation that involves money.

"Certainly not four billion," Drax says, "but it will help you in your quest to purchase your freedom from the Ravagers."

Peter shifts uncomfortably. He feels bad now for all those times he made fun of Drax. He also kinda hates that Drax just compared his situation to indentured servitude. That hits a little too close to home.

"Drax, my friend," says Rocket. "You and I must talk."

Drax barely looks at him. "The money is for Quill, not you."

Rocket doesn't miss a beat. "Quill, my friend—"

"Forget it," Peter says loudly. He can hardly believe he's about to say this; if Yondu heard him talking right now he'd be knocked into the nearest wall. "Thank you, Drax, but I can't take your money."

Drax looks offended. "Why not? I came by it honestly. I used to work for a living. Or did you think I was born a destroyer?"

"Well…" Peter says, then quickly shuts up, because this guy just offered him what's probably his entire life savings, and if he makes fun of him now, he really _is_ nothing more than a complete dick.

"I can't take your money because it's yours," he finally says. "But thank you, man. I really mean that."

He looks around at the Guardians and exhales slowly. "We're just going to have to do this the old-fashioned way," he says.

"And what does that mean?" Gamora asks. From her tone, though, it's obvious she already knows the answer.

"Simple," Peter says. "We steal something." 

****

His idea is a good one, nice and easy. Of course the hard part is figuring out what to steal. They discuss it for a couple hours without coming up with a solution, then finally call it a night. Peter notices that nobody is even bothering to claim one of the bunks anymore; they all just bed down on the floor without a second thought.

He falls asleep still trying to think of the perfect score. It must be several hours later when he wakes up to the sound of voices. For a moment he just lies there, unsure at first what he's hearing. And then it suddenly clicks: he's listening to the universe's weirdest one-sided argument.

"You can't!"

"I am Groot."

"I heard what you said the first time. I still say you can't do it."

"I am Groot."

It's dark in the common area, or as dark as things ever get in here. Peter stays perfectly still. Gamora lies on his right, her hair pooled like shadow about her head; Drax makes gross little noises in his sleep on Peter's left.

The voices are coming from the steps leading up to the cockpit. By squinting, he can even make out Rocket's silhouette.

"Yeah, I know. Quill's my friend, too. And don't you dare spread that around. But Groot…are you really sure about this?"

"I am Groot."

"And what if he finds out that we lied to him? What are you gonna do then?"

"I am Groot."

A rather nasty chuckle. "Yeah, that's true. D'ast bastard won't even know what hit him."

In the short silence that follows, Peter hears the Milano's engines humming. On his left, Drax rolls over in his sleep, nearly whacking Peter with his arm as he comes to rest mere inches away.

"But are you really sure?" Rocket insists.

"I am Groot," is the steadfast reply.

Rocket heaves a sigh. "Okay. It's your call. You know I'll back you on this, but I gotta tell you, I don't like it. It stinks."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm _trying_ to come up with a better plan."

"I am—"

"I _know._ No time." Another heavy sigh. "Fine. We'll do it your way. I'll tell Quill in the morning."

Swiftly Peter shuts his eyes and feigns sleep. He's pretty good at it. It was the first con he ever learned, and no Ravager needed to teach him. Breathe in and breathe out, slow and steady, body utterly limp and relaxed. When he was still young, sometimes he had been able to get out of doing whatever chores he'd been assigned by pretending to be asleep. 

The skill stands him in good stead as an adult, too. On more than one occasion he's known it was time to leave a particular place thanks to overhearing a conversation while he was faking sleep. And it works now, as he hears Rocket walk back over to where he and Drax and Gamora are.

There is a soft clunk as Groot's pot is set on the floor. Then Rocket lies down beside it, on Drax's other side.

Peter just lies there, his breathing deep and even. Like he's asleep. Like he's not wondering what Rocket is going to lie about, or why. Well, he knows why, doesn't he. It's the money they owe Yondu, of course. Always the damn money with Rocket. (Well, that and weapons.)

Not that he can do anything about it right now. But he's got surprise on his side. Rocket doesn't know that he knows. So for now he'll just lie here and pretend to sleep.

But tomorrow morning, the game is up.

****

Peter wakes from disquieting dreams filled with purple light and the memory of what it feels like to slowly burn to death. He reaches up with both hands to scrub at his face as though he can wipe away the dreams, and promptly regrets it as he gets raccoon fur in his eyes.

So it's going to be one of _those_ days.

Drax is still asleep, taking up way too much space on the floor. Peter steps over him, blinking rapidly against the itch in his eyes, and heads for the tiny kitchen/bath area in the rear of the ship.

Twenty minutes later he's in the cockpit, freshly showered and munching on a pastry he found tucked away on a shelf in the kitchen. Someone was obviously saving it for themselves, but too bad. As his Grandpa used to say, "You snooze, you lose."

Gamora is here, too, her feet tucked under her as she sits in the co-pilot's seat. They don't speak, which is nice. Apparently Gamora is not a morning person, either.

They sit together in companionable silence. Peter considers telling her what he overheard Rocket and Groot talking about last night, then decides against it. Allies can be – usually are – only temporary, but the element of surprise can't be taken away. Better to hold onto his secret.

He runs a couple diagnostics on the Milano. The results are quick and pleasing. He feels almost guilty at having everything be in such excellent condition; the cleanup on Xandar will take months, if not years, but the Nova Corps still found time to fix his ship.

He'll never stop being grateful for that. The Milano is all he really has, except for the clothes on his back and his few possessions from Earth. It took him almost eight years to pay Yondu for her, giving up the majority of his take on anything he stole. But he never regretted it. He loves this ship. His biggest fear during their short stay in the Kyln was that they'd make their great escape only to find that she had been dismantled for parts. The Milano is home in a way Yondu's large cruiser could never be.

The Milano is freedom.

The thought makes him sigh. He's got to work now to keep that freedom or he'll lose it, never to get it back again.

"You are not yourself this morning," Gamora observes.

Peter shrugs. "Just thinking."

She doesn't ask what he's thinking about. He likes that about her. Physical privacy is all but impossible on a ship the Milano's size, so she grants him the privacy of his thoughts instead. It's a small thing, but it means a lot.

Noise from below heralds Drax's arrival. Hot on his heels is Rocket, carrying Groot's pot. Groot looks noticeably bigger today; pretty soon he's going to need a larger pot. They should have bought one on Mardun, Peter thinks.

"Oh good," Rocket says. "We're all here. 'Cause I got something to say. Or rather, Groot does, but since he needs me to translate for him, I guess it's really me after all."

Drax looks slightly cross-eyed after all this. Gamora just says, "What is it?"

Rocket holds up the pot. "Groot has a plan to get that four billion units we owe the Ravagers."

Peter sits up at that. _We_ , Rocket said, not _Quill._ That counts for something, right?

"And what is it?" Gamora says again, this time with some impatience.

Rocket glances down at Groot, and his expression softens for a moment. When he looks back up, though, he is as fierce as ever. "We sell Groot to the Collector."

For a second there is absolute silence in the cockpit. Then they all start talking at once.

 _"What?"_ Peter exclaims.

"Absolutely not," Gamora says.

"I will have no part of this," Drax declares.

"Are you out of your mind?" Peter says loudly.

"It's not _my_ idea!" Rocket says.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"You can't do this," Gamora says to Groot.

Peter forgets that what Rocket is saying now is all a lie. All he can think of is the greed in the Collector's eyes when he first saw Groot.

He stands up. "That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard of," he says. "And believe me, living with the Ravagers, I've heard a lot of stupid ideas. I'd expect that from Rocket, but not from you, Groot."

"Hey!" Rocket says in outrage.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"We're not doing this," Peter says. He looks over at Gamora and Drax, and is relieved to see them nodding in agreement. "We'll figure something else out, okay? But we are not doing this."

A loud click grabs his attention. He turns back to Rocket and Groot and freezes at the sight before him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?"

"I'm pointing my gun at you," says Rocket. As indeed he is, one hand holding the gun, the other still holding Groot's pot. "I thought that was obvious."

"But why?" Peter exclaims. Too late, he suddenly remembers what he heard last night, and how Rocket was planning to lie to him.

"I just figured it was the best way to get your attention," Rocket says simply.

"Well, you have it," Gamora says dryly.

"Are you sure?" Rocket says. "Gonna let me finish?"

"Yes!" Peter says. "God, yes. Just put it away."

Rocket shrugs, then does so.

"I should wring your neck for that," Drax rumbles.

"Just you try it, big man," snaps Rocket.

"Enough!" Gamora yells. In a lower voice, she says, "Do not ever point weapons at us again." She doesn't speak the _or else_ part out loud, but Peter hears it anyway. He figures they all do.

"Okay," Rocket says. "But, boy, you should have seen the looks on your guys' faces." He snickers, his whiskers twitching.

"Yeah, it's real funny," Peter says, laying on the sarcasm so thick that even Drax will know he's not being serious. "Ha-ha, we're all laughing."

"I am not laughing," Drax says, glaring at Rocket, and Peter rolls his eyes.

Gamora takes a deep breath. She looks half a second away from killing them all with her bare hands.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"Yeah, I know it was a cheap trick," Rocket says. He sounds completely unapologetic. "But it worked. Now, as I was going to say, the plan is, we sell Groot to the Collector." He pauses, waiting for them to interrupt him again. When they don't, he goes on. "His _carcass_."

Comprehension dawns on Peter. "Oh my God."

Rocket grins, baring most of his teeth. It's an expression that makes him look very much like the feral animal he used to be. "Now you're gettin' it."

"You would kill your own friend?" Drax roars. "You faithless little beast!"

Rocket and Drax draw their weapons at the same time. "I am Groot," squeaks Groot as his pot is jostled.

"No, no, no!" Gamora pushes in between them, her arms outstretched.

They're about two seconds away from murder, blood all over the Milano, and Peter has about had it. "The wood!" he yells at Drax. "The wood! His carcass!"

Drax glares at him. "The tree lives! There is no carcass!"

"No, no, I know," Peter says hastily. "He means the wood we gathered up after the crash." He sees now what Rocket has planned. He admires the audacity of it, too. If the Collector finds out they lied to him, there's probably nowhere in the galaxy they can run to and be safe.

Amid his worry, though, he feels a sting of guilt. He should have known Rocket wasn't planning to lie to _him_. He's supposed to have some faith in his friends.

He's very glad now that he didn't tell Gamora.

Drax blinks. He lowers his knives a tiny bit. "That is not a carcass."

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"You and I know that," Peter says. "We all know that. But the Collector won't know that."

"He'll pay," Rocket says confidently.

"What if he tries what we did, and plants one of the broken branches?" Gamora asks.

"Groot says it won't work," Rocket says. "It'll only work the first time you do it. The other pieces are inert once the new seedling starts to grow."

It's crazy. Absolutely crazy. But it could also work, and Peter starts to feel a cautious excitement.

Drax finally stands down and sheathes his knives. After a moment, Rocket does the same with his gun. Gamora looks at each of them, then steps out from in between them in order to resume her place by the co-pilot's seat.

"I do not like using our friend in this manner," says Drax.

That stops Peter's excitement cold. Crap, what kind of person is he to let this happen?

"Believe me," Rocket says, "I don't like it, either. But Groot insists it's the only way to raise that kind of money quickly."

Peter stares at Groot. The little tree is looking back at him. And suddenly he feels like _he's_ the one who's only eight inches high.

He doesn't get it. On board the Dark Aster, Groot was willing to sacrifice himself to save all of them. And for what? None of them was his friend except Rocket. Peter had mocked his speech, Drax had called him a dumb tree, and Gamora had hacked his arms off. Yet Groot had given his life for them.

Now Groot is doing it again, making a sacrifice. But this time it's for Peter alone.

And he has no idea why.

In fact, he can't understand why any of them would give up anything for him. He had asked them to give up their lives in order to stop Ronan, and they had all risen to the occasion, but that had been a unique situation, facing off against a madman who wanted to annihilate an entire planet. This is…

Well, it's just him. Peter Jason Quill. Star-Lord. Ravager. Thief. A half-human weirdo from Earth who doesn't even know what he wants to do with his life.

But still Drax had tried to give him money. And now this gesture of Groot's.

None of it makes any sense.

"Peter?" He startles a little and realizes that Gamora is looking at him with some worry.

They're all looking at him that way, actually.

"I am Groot."

"I told you it would break his brain."

"What should we do?"

"Why?" Peter croaks.

They stare at him. "Why are you doing this?" he asks. "Why are you helping me? There's nothing in it for you."

"You rather we didn't?" Rocket snarks.

"Do you really not know?" Gamora says.

"Would I be asking if I did?" he snaps. He feels stupid and embarrassed now; he wishes he had never opened his big mouth in the first place.

"You might," Rocket says, side-eyeing him with what is probably – hopefully – feigned suspicion.

"You should know this answer," Drax says. He sounds impatient and slightly exasperated, like he doesn't understand why he has to explain this. "You are a man of honor. Why would we not wish to help you?"

That's not at all what Peter expected to hear. It's surprisingly touching, and to cover his sudden discomfort, he tries to play it off as a joke. "Yeah, but…" He points to Gamora. "She keeps calling me honorless. Among other things."

Gamora tilts her head to the side, almost imperceptibly. He already knows it's a gesture that means she's irritated. "That was before," she says. "Things have changed."

Ah. Okay. That makes sense. He thinks he gets it now. "You mean the Stone."

She shakes her head. She and Drax exchange a look. It's a look that says they have already talked about this, just the two of them. Peter's immediate reaction is paranoia – it's been his experience that when other people are talking about you behind your back, it's rarely for anything good. And seeing as how both Drax and Gamora could kill him without even breaking a sweat, he figures he's got good reason to be nervous right now.

"When the Dark Aster was going down," says Drax, "you were the only one who might have escaped with your life."

Speechless, Peter just stares.

"Yeah? How do you figure that?" Rocket asks, a bit testily.

Drax answers the question, but continues to look at Peter. "By igniting your boots and flying to safety," he replies. "Yet you did not. You would not leave us."

"Oh," Peter says.

It's true, though. At the time it never even occurred to him to abandon the others to die. It wasn't until later, resting and recovering on Xandar, that he wondered why he hadn't done it. He could have scooped up Rocket, maybe carried Gamora too – thanks to her enhancements, she weighs more than she looks – and flown right out through the hole in Ronan's ship.

But he hadn't done it. And not because Rocket would have killed him for leaving Groot behind the moment they touched the ground, or because he felt bad for abandoning Drax. He hadn't done it because, quite simply, it had never been an option.

Apparently he really _is_ growing as a person.

"You are a noble man, Peter Quill," says Drax. "Maybe it is time you realized that."

"Uh," Peter says, the epitome of nobility.

"Friends help each other," Gamora says. Speaking as though she has years of experience under her belt, when he knows for a fact that she doesn't. But he appreciates the gesture, anyway.

And okay, he understands now. When it comes to things like math and flying and how to pick a lock he's never been a slow learner. It's just these other things that are tricky, things like friendship and learning how to accept help that is freely offered.

"Besides," Rocket chimes in, "if we don't do this now, we'll have to deal with that blue-faced freak hounding us, and I don't know about you, but I'm really not feeling that."

Peter bursts into laughter. He can't help it. So much for help freely given. But he gets it. This whole thing between them is still too new. They're all still trying to figure it out. It sounds better to say they're doing it for selfish reasons. And in fact they are, to a point. But he knows the truth now.

He's not the only one who's been searching for something to replace his lost family.

"Okay," he says. He takes a deep breath and looks at Rocket. "So tell us your plan."

****

Like all of Rocket's plans, this one turns out to be surprisingly simple. In theory. Return to Knowhere, sell the shattered wood which is all that remains of Groot's original form to the Collector, and then leave. "Just let her do most of the talking," Rocket says, pointing to Gamora. "Oh, and you don't mind if I bite you, do you?"

She glares at him. "And why would you do that?"

"Because I'm pissed at you for doing this," Rocket says. "Least, that's what we gotta make him think."

"No biting," Peter says firmly.

Rocket just sighs. "You always gotta ruin everything, don't you."

"Where have you been keeping this wood?" Drax asks. "I do not recall seeing it on board this ship before."

"That's 'cause it ain't here," Rocket says.

Gamora's chin comes up. "You mean we must return to Xandar."

"You got it," Rocket says.

There is a moment of silence. Peter isn't sure what the others are thinking about, but he can't help remembering that day on Xandar when they buried Groot's remains in a park. At the time they hadn't known for sure that the seedling would take and their friend would come back to them. All they had had was hope – and a fair amount of tears.

It was a beautiful day, he remembers that. They stood in a row, gathered together in a tree-lined area of the park, a place where Xandarians could walk among the shade in summer and marvel over nature's bright colors in autumn. Peter and Drax dug the grave, while Gamora talked quietly with Rocket. When it was done, they all lifted the bundled-up white sheet containing those broken branches and gently lowered it into the ground.

None of them spoke at first. Peter thought about funerals he had seen on TV as a kid and wondered if he should say something. It wasn't his place, though, he thought. If anyone, Rocket should be the one to speak.

But Rocket hadn't said anything. And at last it was Drax who said, "He was a good friend and a brave warrior. I am sorry I will not get to know him better."

Gamora was in tears as she said, "He was loyal and true, and he will be missed."

Fighting back tears of his own, Peter said, "He was the best of all of us. I'll never forget him."

Rocket never said a word. And after a while, Peter and Drax and Gamora drifted away, allowing Rocket a chance to grieve in peace. It was less than an hour before Rocket returned, eyes downcast, ears drooping. Together they returned to their guest rooms at Nova Headquarters, and there was little talk between them that night.

Now they have to go back to that peaceful park and dig up that grave. It feels like some sick joke. But this is all Groot's idea, and Peter tells himself to remember that. If Groot is okay with it, then he should be, too.

"Fine," he says now, falling back as always on an inappropriate joke in order to keep unwelcome emotion at a distance. "But I'm deducting the cost of the fuel for all this travel from your share of our next reward."

Rocket glares. "Forget biting her. I think I'll bite _you_ instead."

Peter glares right back. "Try it and that'll be the last time you bite anyone."

Bristling, Rocket reaches for his gun. "You wanna have a go, little man?"

"Oh my God, would you two stop!" Gamora exclaims. "Can't we have one discussion around here without someone pulling their weapon?"

"It wasn't me," Peter says instantly.

She rounds on him, and he puts his hands up in self-defense. "Okay, okay. Sorry!"

Gamora stares at him for a moment longer, then turns to Rocket. "This is what we will do," she says. She speaks in the cold tones of the assassin, making it abundantly clear that she will accept no deviation from the plan. "I will contact Tivan and arrange the sale, like I did with the Stone. We will meet with him. Groot stays hidden on board the Milano; Tivan's men will no doubt search it while we're inside."

Peter starts to speak at that, then checks himself. Yeah, all right. He should have known that would be the case. He hates it, but he'll have to allow it, have to pretend he doesn't know it's happening.

"During the meeting, you and you," Gamora looks at Peter and Drax, "will say nothing. You will act as though you are ashamed of what you are doing. But we need the money, so you are doing it anyway."

Peter nods. He can do that. He's been playacting most of his life for one reason or another. This should be simple.

Drax frowns, though. "I _am_ ashamed of this course of action," he says. "I will not put on an act for any man."

"You will for this one," Gamora says, her voice steely. "Because if you do not, we will all suffer the consequences."

Drax stares back at her. After a long moment he nods. "I will try," he says heavily.

Gamora accepts this without comment. She looks at Rocket. "You," she says, "will be angry with us. You will argue that we cannot do this. You may even try once to interrupt the sale, and grab a few branches to save for yourself." She hesitates, her expression softening a little, maybe imagining how awful it would be if they were doing this for real. "We will let you, although I can't speak for Tivan."

"He'll let you," Peter says. He's only guessing here, but he's got a good feeling about that guess being right. "He's getting what he wants. He won't miss a couple branches. Besides, he'll want to look big, like he's being generous."

Gamora nods. Rocket narrows his eyes. "It's a good thing we need this guy alive," he says, "or I'd show him how generous _I_ can be."

"We conclude the sale, and we leave," Gamora says. "We walk away and that is it. No fighting, no weapons." She gives Rocket a firm look. "And _no_ biting."

"Can't I bite him?" Rocket says. "Come on, you know you want me to."

"I know _I_ want you to," Peter says with a smirk.

Gamora makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, and Peter quickly wipes the smile off his face. 

"When can we be ready to go?" she asks.

"We're ready right now," Peter says. "Unless anyone has any objections."

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"We're ready," Rocket says.

Peter sits in the pilot's chair and starts inputting the coordinates for Xandar into the navicomputer. "Okay," he says. "One unexpectedly early return to Xandar, coming right up."

****

Gamora arranges the deal, just like she did for the orb. Because he has more experience with this sort of thing, Peter gives her a few suggestions for the negotiations. "Start high, that way we can settle on four billion. And get him to confirm that amount, with the possibility of more if he likes what he sees."

She sort of rolls her eyes at him, but it must work, because when she rejoins them in the cockpit, she says the deal is on. "He is wary of us, though, after what happened last time we were there." She sweeps them all with a cool gaze. "I promised him there would be no explosions this time."

"I ain't making any promise like that," Rocket mutters.

Peter tips him a wink. Gamora ignores this. "We only want to go there, make the sale, and then leave. We are still grieving for our friend, and we do not wish to dishonor ourselves any further than we must."

"I bet he loved that," Peter says.

"Tivan does not care about our grief or our honor," Gamora says. "He only cares that he is getting what he wants. But it makes our story sound more plausible, so I have said it."

A light begins to flash on the Milano's console, along with a steady beeping sound. They are nearing Xandar.

"Everybody get ready," says Peter. "We've got a carcass to dig up."

Beside him, Drax makes a low noise of disapproval. "When I am gone, I hope you will treat my remains with more respect."

Peter shuts up then, because there's really nothing he can say to that.

****

For once luck is with them, which is about right because Peter figures they're owed, after everything they've been through. They don't broadcast their arrival on Xandar, and nobody hails them or even knows they are there. There's no official invitation to visit the Nova Corps, or worse, an official welcome-back celebration for the triumphant heroes. Instead there's only this small corner of the park, a growing pile of dirt, and a once-white sheet rolled around a bundle of shattered wood.

Rocket can barely look at it. Peter and Drax carry the remains onto the Milano and store it in one of the shipping compartments. "I am Groot," Groot says as they walk by his pot, but Peter doesn't know if he's sad to see what's left of his former self, or if he's glad to see his plan being put in action.

Either way, they're finished on Xandar and headed for Knowhere in about an hour. There's no turning back now.

****

Despite everything that's happened since then, it really hasn't been that long since their first visit to Knowhere. Peter is reminded of that fact when he sees the state of the Collector's…museum, is the best – and creepiest – word he can think of to describe it. Repair work is still obviously an ongoing process, although all of the glass cases have been fixed. Some of them are empty, although there is fresh bedding placed in them, and Peter makes up his mind right then and there to never ever ask what was once inside them.

The Collector himself is more wary this time. He greets them coolly; no kiss on the hand for Gamora today. He is wrapped in a blue cloak with a flaring collar that makes his white hair look even more like it's trying to fly right off his head.

He looks at them, then at the sheet Peter and Drax are holding. "Let me see it," he says.

They carry the bundle over to the nearest table and the Collector clears a space, moving aside esoteric instruments and glass containers that hold creatures too small to need a cage of their own. Drax sets his end down first, and then Peter, and then they step away from the table.

The Collector folds the sheet back reverently enough, but there is no disguising the naked greed in his eyes. When he gets his first glimpse of the broken wood inside, his breath catches. "Exquisite," he sighs.

Rocket's lips curl back, baring his teeth.

The Collector bends over the table and passes a hand across the splintered wood, although he doesn't actually touch it. "So much," he says. "Is this all of it?"

Even though it's not real, and Groot is actually safely hidden away on the Milano, Peter feels revulsion crawling across his skin. He knows he's not supposed to say anything, but this is too disgusting. "Yeah, it's all of it, now stop pawing at it," he snaps.

The Collector cocks his head to one side and looks up at him. "You are jealous, perhaps?" He straightens up, a little smile playing about his mouth. "You would not fetch such a price, my Terran friend."

"Ha, joke's on you," Rocket says. "He's only _half_ Terran."

The Collector's eyes light up at that, and Peter groans. "Thanks, Rocket."

"Oops," Rocket says, one paw over his mouth like he's hiding laughter. He's not sorry at all, the bastard.

"And what," croons the Collector in that creepy as hell voice, "is your other half?"

"I don't know," Peter says, trying not to sound all sullen about it. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gamora staring at him, but he refuses to look at her. She can yell at him later about how he ruined her great plan.

"Would you like to find out?" invites the Collector. He gestures to some icky-looking instruments on a table behind him. "I can give you a complete genetic analysis. I'm told it's not an entirely pleasant procedure, but surely some momentary pain is worth permanent knowledge?"

"You know, you'd think it would be," Peter says lightly. He's tempted, though. It would be good to finally know the truth. And it would save him a trip to Earth.

"Peter," Gamora says.

No, no, he knows he can't agree to it. Not today for sure, and probably not any day. He doesn't trust the Collector not to screw him over. Besides, it's enough to know that there's a way he can learn the truth without needing to go all the way back to Earth. Maybe they can go to Xandar and he can get a full genome work-up done there. They'd probably do it for free, even.

"Just pay up," Rocket says, "so we can get out of here."

The Collector looks at him. "You do not wish to be here?"

"What do you think, whitey?" Rocket snaps. "We're selling the remains of my best friend. Yeah, I don't want to be here."

The Collector nods, that little smile on his lips once more, like he's amused at their expense. Which he probably is, the bastard. He moves over to a drawer and opens it. "Very well," he says. He begins setting the money out where they can all see it.

"Peter," Gamora says. This time she sounds more urgent, and he finally looks over at her.

Instantly he's on high alert. He's never really seen Gamora afraid before, he realizes. Not in the Kyln, not when she was trying to convince Yondu to help them stop Ronan, not even that terrible day on Xandar when they came face to face with Ronan and the Infinity Stone.

But she is afraid now.

One look around is enough to tell him why. While they were busy watching the Collector fawn over Groot's remains, the trap has been closing around them. And only Gamora, the accomplished assassin, has seen it.

Men working for the Collector have every exit covered. They are armed, and many of them have already drawn their weapons. More mercenaries lurk on the two floors above, half a dozen per floor. Eighteen of them altogether, with probably another two hidden from sight, making it an even twenty. Whatever else he might be, the Collector is obviously taking no chances with them.

And for what? Oh, Peter thinks he knows. Those empty glass cages, the ones that have bedding laid down in them? He's got a pretty good idea who is meant to go inside them. One female, last of her kind. One walking, talking raccoon. One Destroyer. And one loudmouth Terran whose worth has just skyrocketed with the discovery that he is in fact only half-Terran.

On her own, Gamora could escape the trap. She's been doing this kind of thing for years. But now she has the rest of them to contend with, and Peter understands exactly why she's afraid. She can't leave them behind. She won't.

Because that's not what friends do.

The Collector is still laying out the money, taking his sweet time about it, too. Rocket stands closest to him, arms crossed impatiently.

Peter tries to catch Drax's eye. He succeeds after a moment, and he gestures with his eyes only to the armed mercenaries.

Drax looks – and that's when the game is up. "What is the meaning of this?" he says loudly, and pulls his knives.

Gamora hisses angrily and goes for her weapon. So does Peter. So does Rocket – but first he reaches out and scoops the money off the table and into his pocket.

"You cost me dearly, my new friends," the Collector says, creepy-calm as ever. "Because of you I lost not only the Infinity Stone, but many other items that were precious to me."

"Well, boo-fucking-hoo," says Rocket as he slowly backs away, toward where Peter and Gamora are standing.

"It seems only fair that you should recompense me for my losses," says the Collector. "The last Zen Whoberi in the galaxy. An animal that can think for itself. An interesting puzzle from Terra." He looks at Drax last. "I have never had a male attendant before, but I think you might serve well." He pauses. "If, that is, you wish your friends not to suffer."

"I will show you what it means to suffer!" Drax roars, and he leaps at the Collector.

"No!" Gamora shouts, but it's already far too late.

Their only chance lies in the fact that the Collector wants them taken alive. It's not much to pin the outcome of a fight on, but it's all they've got. And right now Peter will take any advantage he can get.

He draws both his weapons and thumbs the switch on the side that changes the discharge from merely incapacitating his foe to the more lethal pulse. It's not a question anymore of morals or who is right (because let's face it, they did kind of screw the Collector over last time they were here).

Now it's down to mere survival.

Like every other firefight Peter's ever been in, it all happens very quickly. While it's actually happening, though, it seems to last for an eternity.

"Get the ones on top!" he yells. He and Rocket are the only ones with ranged weapons; they'll have to leave the mercs on this level for Gamora to take care of.

Then he drops to one knee behind the table holding the wooden remains of Groot, and he starts firing.

Instantly the large space is full of gunfire. Rocket is shouting and firing at the mercs on the upper floors. Drax runs at the Collector and bounces off a personal energy shield Tivan activates at the last second. Gamora sprints past him, swords crossed, weaving and dodging as she heads for the mercs closest to the exit. Drax goes flying and hits the floor hard.

Blaster fire impacts the table above him, and walks up the floor toward him. The case behind him shatters. Glass sprays everywhere, and Peter knows he's cut, he has to be, but he doesn't feel any pain.

Yelling, still firing at the mercs above them, he throws himself bodily to the left, taking refuge behind another case. He lands heavily on his side. He spares one moment to be stunned and get his breath back, then he's up on one knee again, peering out at what's going on out there.

Gamora has already dispatched two mercs and is working on a third, her sword flashing. Rocket is beneath the table with Groot's remains, firing and cursing. Drax takes a running leap and ends up on top of a glass case, then hops onto the second floor, moving far more nimbly than someone his size should be capable of. The Collector is nowhere in sight.

Crackling lightning strikes the glass case in front of him, and with a muffled curse, Peter quickly spins back around behind his shelter. As he does so, he gets a good look at the occupant of the cage and experiences a moment of confusion. It's a Dark Elf, though he could have sworn they were extinct, killed off by the Asgardians centuries ago.

He has an idea then, something so brilliant he's rather proud of himself. Quickly he scans the cage, searching for what he knows has to be there. On his left he hears Gamora call out, but whether in pain or rage or simple exertion, he doesn't know. Rocket is on the move now, and Drax is lost from sight.

Where is it, where, it has to be here somewhere… Crouched down, he hurries out from behind the case containing the Dark Elf. He gets beneath the table where Rocket was until recently, and he's about to make a dive for safety behind the glass case on the right, when a shot finds him.

This time there is pain. A lot of it. He cries out as he goes down, lightning playing over his entire body. It wants to drag him down still further, into unconsciousness, and he fights with all his might. If he passes out now, he might as well deliver them all right into the Collector's hands.

Which is kind of what he's done already, isn't it? He brought them here. It might have been Groot's idea, but it was only necessary in the first place because of what _he_ did on Xandar. The Guardians came here out of desperation. They came here to help him. And to thank them, he's put them in immediate danger of a lifetime of imprisonment behind glass walls, just another specimen in a zoo, an exhibit in a museum.

"No!" he shouts, and with the last of his strength he reaches up and topples the table over.

Everything that was on the surface falls to the floor. Microscopes, computer cards, glass containers that shatter on impact. Groot's broken branches scatter everywhere. The table now lies on its side, and Peter, still struggling to stay awake and alert, ducks behind what was once its top and is now his only protection from the hail of blaster fire cutting through the room.

So he's bought himself some time. Now what? He hears Drax bellowing with rage on one of the upper levels as he cuts through the mercs. Gamora's light step rushes past as she heads for another battle. Rocket has fallen silent but his gun is still going, keeping the mercs from falling on them and taking them out in one large melee.

"Quill!" Rocket yells. "I'm pinned down!"

Gamora shouts again, and this time he knows it's because she's hurt.

Peter can't move. It's all falling apart. And it's all his fault. He's still got the shakes from being hit, and he looks down, fighting to get his traitorous body under control. He sees blood on his hand and he blinks at it, wondering where he's cut and how bad it is. He takes a deep breath, ready to rise up from behind the table and start shooting again.

And then he sees it.

On the underside of the table. A small white switch. It's unobtrusive and unmarked. But Peter knows he's finally found what he wanted, the one thing he knew had to be here.

A man like the Collector, his single greatest fear must be losing his creepy little collection. To anything, really, but to something unexpected and drastic above all other things. An attack on Knowhere. Fire. Anything that would put his precious exhibits at risk.

So naturally he must have a way of opening all the cages at once. The sentient beings would be able to fend for themselves. The Collector and his attendants would hurry about, gathering up the plants and the objects, all that armor and masks and art and weaponry from extinct cultures, saving what they could. And all the while, those cage doors would be standing open.

Without hesitation, Peter slams his thumb down on the button.

A sharp alarm cuts through the sound of gunfire. From somewhere to his right, the Collector lets out a wail. "No! You can't!"

The glass cases swing wide open. In one case, a thick cocoon starts to split in two. And throughout the room, creatures of every shape, size, and color start to emerge from their prisons.

"Help us!" Peter yells.

For a moment the gunfire stops as the mercs assess this new element to the fight. The Dark Elf steps out and looks at Peter. Its expression is utterly blank.

Then from somewhere up above comes an unearthly shriek. It's one of the mercs, and the man is clearly dying. Whatever came out of the cages up there, it's angry.

"No!" the Collector shouts again. "Don't shoot them!"

Chaos erupts in the room. Blaster fire pours forth. Rocket starts yelling again. The Collector is shouting uselessly for them to spare his specimens.

Peter dares to peek out from behind the table. No sooner does he do this than he sees Drax running hellbent for the edge of the second floor. He opens his mouth to shout out a warning when Drax leaps and lands on top of one of the open glass cases on the ground floor.

Metal clashes behind him; Gamora has claimed another victim. Inside its case, the cocoon is nearly split wide open now, and it's possible to see a vague shape of the thing inside it. Near the center of the room, a man-shaped creature with a face that strongly resembles a horse looks around, sights a merc, and charges at him.

The Dark Elf strides forward. It looks at Peter. "Go," it says in a voice thick and cracked from disuse. "Leave this place."

Peter doesn't need to be told twice. Drax is on the floor now, running toward him. Gamora leaps over a fallen man and heads in his direction. Rocket emerges from behind a short rolling cabinet.

"You got it?" Peter yells.

"I got it!" Rocket shouts. "Let's go!"

They run. A few of the mercs shoot at them as they flee, but most of them are too busy fighting for their lives against the creatures that used to live in the Collector's cages. Peter feels a momentary pang of guilt at that, and hopes he hasn't just unleashed some killer monster on the galaxy, but then he remembers that the Collector wanted him and his friends to live out their lives in similar cages, and that puts an end to any misgivings he has about what he did here.

"Wait!" Rocket cries.

Peter skids to a halt. Gamora nearly stumbles into him. He twists around and sees Rocket on his knees, frantically gathering up the fallen pieces of Groot.

"There's no time!" he shouts.

Rocket gives him a look of darkest anger. Peter hesitates a moment longer, utters an agonized growl, and then rushes forward to help.

Drax and Gamora are there an instant later, all of them tossing sticks and broken branches onto the sheet. Blaster fire zings the floor around them, and Peter stops picking up Groot sticks long enough to fire in the general direction it came from. 

He can barely comprehend the chaos in the room now. The cocoon is gaping open; whatever was inside is gone. The man with the horseface is rallying some of the others to his cry. The Dark Elf has found a very sharp-looking sword and is swinging it about his head. Some of the mercs have banded together and are advancing in a row on the Collector's specimens.

The Collector himself is nowhere in sight.

The last stick is tossed onto the pile. Drax scoops the sheet into his arms and stands up. "Let's go!" Gamora cries, and they're finally done here. 

Carrying their precious burden, they bolt from the room and out into the star-studded afternoon of Knowhere.

****

On board the Milano, Drax says, "You have made a powerful enemy today." He is still cradling the sheet-wrapped remains of Groot to his chest, the way he would carry a small child. He's probably not even aware he's doing it, and Peter isn't about to call his attention to it.

"I know," he says. "Still, I'd rather have him chasing me than Yondu and the Ravagers."

All things considered, they came out okay in the end. Only Rocket escaped unscathed, which means he's currently the one flying the ship, Groot in his pot on the console. Gamora took a few direct hits from blaster fire, but her cybernetic enhancements kept her up and on her feet. She'll be sore for a few hours, but otherwise, she's fine. Drax has a bad burn on one arm and from the way his eyes are narrowed he's got one killer headache, but he hasn't said a word of complaint.

Peter's got several minor cuts and a couple bad ones, one on the back of his neck and another on his scalp, but they'll heal. He's achy all over from the hit he took, but he knows from experience that the hurt will pass in a few hours; by tomorrow he won't feel anything at all.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he could happily fall onto his bunk and sleep for hours. He might do just that, too, depending on how things go in the next five minutes.

Because he's got something to say, first.

"Guys." He clears his throat. He's never been good at making speeches. But he's got to say this, and it has to be now. "I just wanted to say…thank you."

They all stare at him. Rocket is turned around in the pilot's chair. Drax still holds the sheet-wrapped remains of the old Groot. Gamora pauses in the act of applying a thick salve to the burn on Drax's arm.

Peter's cheeks burn, but he keeps at it. "Thank you for what you did back there. For helping me out. It really means a lot."

No one says anything. Then Rocket looks at Gamora. "Is he gonna do this every time?"

"I don't know," she says calmly, and returns to fixing up Drax.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"Be careful," Drax says irritably, glaring down at Gamora.

Rocket hums a little as he spins back around in his chair and faces out into the stars.

Peter just stands there, feeling like a colossal idiot. And yet he can't help smiling too, in spite of himself.

He really does have the greatest friends.

****

They meet on Morag for the exchange, in the shadow of the once-great hall that housed the orb. It's a fitting place for the end, Peter thinks, because in many ways, it all began here, with his impulsive decision to steal the orb on his own rather than wait for the Ravagers. With hindsight, of course, it's the best thing he could have ever done, arriving here only minutes before the Kree retrieval team Ronan had sent.

 _I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd save you the hassle_ , he had said to Yondu after fleeing the planet. But that had never really been true, had it? Even back then, a part of him had already been trying to think of ways to leave the Ravagers behind. He doesn't think he would have stolen away with _all_ the money from the Broker – but then again, maybe he would have. It's hard to know at this point.

At his request, the other Guardians remain on board the Milano, waiting for him to complete this, the last deal he'll ever make. Alone, he walks through the ruins. This time there is no tech to show him how the building once looked. Today there is only tumbled stone and ancient loss. The skies are cloudy, but the great storms that wreak such havoc with Morag's atmosphere and tear apart its surface are still a couple hours away. They have time.

Maybe it's the inevitable sorrow of such a place that makes him think about what could have been. What if, for instance, he hadn't decided to come here alone? What if the Kree had gotten here first?

He thinks about those many worlds the Infinity Stone showed him. Maybe on one of those worlds that exact thing happened. Maybe in one of those worlds there's a Peter Quill who arrived on Morag with Yondu and the Ravagers, only to find that someone had beaten them here and taken the orb. They never would have found out that it contained the Infinity Stone. And they would have watched in shocked silence as Xandar was destroyed, maybe by Thanos, maybe by Ronan. But then they would have gone on with their lives, the loss of an entire planet of innocent people not factoring at all into their future as they searched fruitlessly for an orb that they didn't even know didn't exist anymore.

It's a terrible thought.

He hears the sound of an approaching ship, and he looks up as the blue and red craft descends from the clouds. It's Yondu, come alone for this, their final meeting. 

Peter walks out of the ruins and meets him halfway. Already the wind is picking up, a precursor to the storms that sweep Morag continually. It plasters Yondu's coat against his legs, and bells Peter's duster out in a wide arc.

"You got what you promised?" Yondu asks.

So it's to be strictly business then. Well that's fine. He can go with that. Peter nods and pulls out the stack of units. "It's all here," he says. He doesn't see the need to tell Yondu that Rocket swiped an additional pile of money from the open drawer in that split-second before the shooting went down. He considers it their just reward for getting shot at and nearly imprisoned on Knowhere. And besides, what Yondu doesn't know won't hurt him.

Yondu doesn't count the money. He just pockets it and stares at Peter.

"I guess this is it," he says.

"Guess it is," Yondu drawls, acting like he doesn't care. Yondu who shouted at him that he needed to toughen up, who slapped him when he cried, who shouted that he was too soft, that he ought to be tossed out the airlock.

"Take care of yourself," Peter says.

"Boy, the day I need you to tell me how to handle my affairs is the day I hang up my arrow," snaps Yondu.

Peter grins. "Just testing you, old man."

Yondu makes an aggrieved noise, but there is amusement in his red eyes. "Who you callin' old?"

"I dunno," Peter says. "The guy who's got white hairs sprouting on his face?"

"I can still take you," Yondu says, and it's the same old song Peter's been hearing for years. "Don't you ever think different."

"I know you could," he says, and damn if he isn't starting to feel regret. Like maybe he's been too hasty about this whole thing. Like maybe he's making a mistake.

"And I know you say you're done, and I know you _think_ you're done," Yondu says, "but I'm telling you now, once a Ravager, always a Ravager. We need you, you better come running."

"You know I will," he says. And that's one promise he means to keep.

Yondu stares at him some more. Unbelievably, he looks like he's getting a little choked up.

It's too much. Peter meant to finish this with a gentlemanly handshake, but screw that. He goes in for the hug, and after only a moment of hesitation, Yondu wraps both arms around him and holds on tight.

Peter shuts his eyes.

He remembers being nine years old, curled up in the corner of the room he had been given on the cruiser, Yondu pressing the Walkman into his hands and assuring him that none of the Ravagers would ever take it from him again. He remembers the way he started to cry again, even though he had already cried over the loss of the Walkman and his mom's music so much that he had made himself sick. He hated Yondu with every breath in his body back then – but that was also the first time he loved him a little, too.

He remembers the first time he ever went out into the endless cold vacuum of space with nothing but the mask to keep him from dying in seconds. He remembers Yondu watching from the cockpit, promising to pull him back in at the first moment he showed any sign of distress. And his fear just fell away, because he trusted Yondu to protect him.

After Ronan's defeat, he told Gamora that Yondu was the only family he had, and he knows now that isn't true, but he also knows that Yondu was the father figure he clung to in his terror and confusion during those first few months among the Ravagers. The man he grew up both admiring and fearing, the man he wanted to be even when he vowed he would never be like that.

And he knows that no matter where he is in the galaxy, a part of him will always be flying with Yondu and the Ravagers.

"Damn Terran," Yondu grumbles, his voice thick with emotion. "I never shoulda picked you up."

"I know," Peter says, and he's not crying, damnit. He's not. "But you did. Looks like you're stuck with me now."

They release each other and step back. Yondu's eyes glisten suspiciously bright. Peter blinks rapidly, willing the tears not to fall. "You could come with us, you know," he says.

"Nah," Yondu says. "That'd never work and you know it. 'sides, I got my own crew to keep in line. Can you imagine Kraglin giving them orders?" He grins at the thought.

The Ravagers would fall into anarchy within two days if Kraglin was in charge, that's for sure. Peter smiles back, and feels the last of his tears recede.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around," he says. He has no idea when or where, but he knows their paths will cross again someday. It's inevitable. The galaxy, for all its majesty and wonder, isn't that big a place.

Still smiling a little, Yondu points at him, then turns to go.

Peter stands there, watching him walk toward his ship. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. The wind is getting stronger now; the storms are approaching. 

He starts back toward the Milano. From this distance, he can just make out the shadowy figures in the cockpit; the Guardians have been watching all this, of course. It's a little bit irritating to know that they were witness to such a private moment, but he knows they only did it out of concern that things went all right, that Yondu wouldn't decide to take some last-minute vengeance on him for his betrayal.

And that's what friends do, after all. They look out for each other.

They're more than just friends, though. Gamora tried to tell him that on Xandar, but he hadn't understood that until just now.

_He was going to kill you, Peter._

_Oh, I know. But he was about the only family I had._

_No. He wasn't._

That's the thing about families, he thinks as he steps back on board the Milano. Sometimes you lose them, no matter how hard you fight to hold on.

But sometimes, if you're lucky, you find a new family to replace the one you lost.

He looks at them, his Guardians of the Galaxy. They're all pretending like they weren't all just clustered in the cockpit, watching him talk to Yondu. Drax is sewing at a rip in his spare pair of trousers. Gamora is sharpening her sword. Rocket is fiddling with some bits and bolts, making something that will blow them all up if they're not careful.

Only Groot looks at Peter. And he is smiling.

Peter smiles back.

It's good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> The alternate worlds Peter sees in his dream/memory of the Infinity Stone are the 616 verse, specifically when Peter and Richard Rider are trapped in the cancerverse; and the alternate version of 616 created in the Age of Ultron arc. The kisses are, in order: Mantis, Tony Stark, Kitty Pryde, Adam Warlock.


End file.
